Wicked and Tricksy
by Rye-bread
Summary: Gollum fell from grace.  At the last, he succumbed to the lure of the Ring.  But what if grace won out?  What if, like a Prodigal, Sméagol came to a change of heart?  A story of redemption for the Nativity Season.
1. Chapter 1

Randy has dozens of incomplete stories. And world class writer's block. So what does he do? Why, of course…wander into a new fandom. What could be more logical? (Loud boisterous guffaw.)

This came to me back in Lent of 2011. It is a "what if?" story. What if, for example, after he betrayed Our Lord, Judas Iscariot repented, while he was hanging himself? Even as the rope stretched taut?

A Roman Catholic Franciscan priest. Father Benedict Groeschel, an advocate for the poor, author, psychiatrist, and broadcaster, has spoken eloquently how God will deal with the soul, even in the closing moments of life.

In his original book, The Return Of The King, J.R.R. Tolkien makes it seem that Sméagol / dash / Gollum fell back into evil and perished, as it were, in mortal sin.

But…what if…well, read and see. It is out of that conjecture that this story came out.

_**Wicked And Tricksy**_

We snuck into the cave after them. We hit the fat hobbit's head with a rock. We hoped we cracked his stupid skull. We tried hard.

Then we fought with Master.

We realized Master's plan…to throw Precious into the fire. We couldn't let him, _gollum_! He and we fought like starving animals fight over a single piece of food. We wanted Precious. Everyone wanted the Precious. Orkes. Men of Gondor. Men of Harad. Easterlings and Southrons.

He wanted it, too. The Dark Lord. He made It. He gave It His soul to live in It.

Master warned us, earlier. The Precious spoke to us through him. The Precious took his mind, as It took our mind, _gollum_. It told us It would throw us into the fire.

And for the first time in our life, we hated the Precious. It dared to threaten us. That made us want it all the more. We would teach the Precious a lesson. It thought It could just use us and throw us away. We would show it how It how wrong It could be. _Gollum!_

But we were wrong. It was stronger than us. It was stronger than Master.

Master fought back. But we had sharper teeth. We bit Master's finger off. We thought we won. The Precious made us joyful. The Precious made us careless. We danced. We hopped and skipped. And we fell.

We hit the rocks many times as we fell. It cracked our bones. We landed near the river of molten lava.

We hurts, Precious. Yes, we does. Even He and His orkses didn't hurt us this bad.

We remembers. His single eye looked upon us. He saw and heard everything we ever said and did. He forced us to say the name. _**"Baggins!"**_

That hurt was nothing compared to this. We never imagined it possible to feel so much hurt. The pain is everywhere. We could walk on it, like the ground under us. It is bigger than the world. We can find caves to hide from the sun and the sky…but we can't hide from this. No, we can't.

We sees You, Precious. We holds you in our hand. Precious is shiny and beautiful. Our eyes are blurry, but we can still see the Precious. We puts You on our finger. But it doesn't help. We still hurts.

We are going to die. _Gollum. _Precious can't heal us.

Men of Gondor. Orkses. Black Riders. All of them hurt us. Master alone cared for us. Master loved us. Master is good.

We were fishing with our brother when he found You. You made us fall in love with You. All shiny and golden. You made us forget everything but You. We killed our brother so we could have You for a birthday present. We put You on our finger, and no one could see us! _Gollum! _What fun it was, to spy on people, and steal from them!

But people could still see our shadow. We grew to hate the daytime light…Yellow Face. And the nighttime light…White Face.

We ran away, so no one would hurt us. We found a cave, and in we crawled, like a worm.

We hated the trees, and the sounds of birds. We hated the wind, and the rain, and the snow. We hated the summer and winter. We crawled further, to the deepest place we could find. Just us, my Precious. _Gollum._

We loved You. We treasured You. You made us immortal. You kept us invisible and we kept You found.

But You slipped away from us! You let Baggins find You!

Sméagol knows now. You went back to Him! He made You to rule the world. With You, He could control the Dwarveses. And the Elveses. Nasty Elveses! And men. Yes. Men are easy to control. He gave rings to Men, and made them Black Riders. But He couldn't keep You. He lost You. Just like I lost you. He couldn't keep You safe. Other Men took You from Him. Why did You want to return to Him?

Master was right. You are treacherous. You twist our words. You twist our heart.

You are weak. You need hands to carry you. Birds can fly. Fish can swim. Rats can walk. Even snakes can crawl. But You…someone drops You, and all You can do is roll on the ground. You have to put someone under a spell for them to pick You up.

I laugh at You.

Precious is angry. We can feel it. Yes, we can. What will you do to us, my Precious? Cast us into the fire? You already did that.

My Precious. You are evil. You are wicked and tricksy.

Nasty Precious. Wicked Precious tricks us and cheats us. We finish what Master began. We cast _**You**_ into the fire. We fling you…_**so!**_

There. It is done. Who will Precious get to pick It up, now? A Black Rider? An ork? Will Precious call Her to crawl across Mordor to rescue It? She doesn't care! All She does is spin webs and eat what she catches. Sméagol should've been smarter and just caught fish.

Is She even still alive? The fat hobbit stabbed her. Maybe She is dead. Sméagol will soon be dead. And Precious. And the Dark Lord. He needed You. That's why Master came to Mordor.

Master outsmarted the Dark Lord. Master outsmarted You! He didn't want to rule the world. Nyah!

Let Precious feel hurt. Does it hurt, my Precious? Floating there on the lava? Starting to melt? Shining so brightly? Hah. Sméagol laughs again. Tell it to someone who cares.

Relief. Sméagol feels light…like a great weight is taken off his back. Sméagol hopes Master feels light. Sméagol is so sorry for biting Master's hand…hopes Master's hand will heal.

Something is wet on our cheek. A…tear? Sméagol doesn't even remember ever crying before.

Sméagol is sorry for hitting fat hobbit. Cannot remember his name. Cannot tell him. He would not believe us. Only Master ever believed us.

Sméagol hears a very loud noise. Everything shakes. Rocks fall into the lava. He feels very hot…it hurts…

…Curse us and crush us…such pain…gnash us and mash us…we hurt so bad…is Anyone there? Help us…we plead…

_**to be continued…**_

A / N

The She whom Sméagol is referring to is Shelob, the spider monster who lived in the mountain pass at Mordor's side door entrance and caught the unwary travelers. The orks referred to her as Her Ladyship.

The sense of the burden being gone I want to be reminiscent of both Frodo's sense of freedom when he is rid of the Ring, and Pilgrim's sense of freedom, as portrayed in the allegory, Pilgrim's Progress, by John Bunyan. He looks up at the Cross whereon the Savior died, and his burden of sin rolls off his back.

Now I saw in my dream, that the highway up which Christian was to go, was fenced on

either side with a wall, and that wall was called Salvation. Up this way, therefore, did burdened Christian run, but not without great difficulty, because of the load on his back.

He ran thus till he came at a place somewhat ascending; and upon that place stood a cross, and a little below, in the bottom, a sepulchre. So I saw in my dream, that just as Christian came up with the cross, his burden loosed from off his shoulders, and fell from off his back, and began to tumble, and so continued to do till it came to the mouth of the sepulchre, where it fell in, and I saw it no more.

Then was Christian glad and lightsome, and said with a merry heart, "He hath given me rest by his sorrow, and life by his death." Then he stood still a while, to look and wonder; for it was very surprising to him that the sight of the cross should thus ease him of his burden.

He looked, therefore, and looked again, even till the springs that were in his head sent the waters down his cheeks.

Hey…like I warn my readers…I'm the Born Again Bible Thumper.

I also wanted to portray Sméagol's obsession with the Ring as being a love-hate relationship. Like an addictive behavior. An addict thinks he / she is in control, and may even feel like he / she is the dom and the habit is a submissive in a dominance / submission situation…if you catch my drift. That is what habits are about, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

_**unshackled**_

…Sméagol hurts…we feels it…the Precious is dead…

…We knew it would happen, my love…yes, we did…when Master cast the Precious into the fire from where it was made, everything would die…the mountain of fire…the Black Riders…the whole Black Land…even the Dark Lord…and all the orkses would go crazy, like ants when someone with big boots steps on their anthill…

…Sméagol himself would fall to pieces…like dust and ashes…

We knew it all along, my sweet. After Baggins tricked us in the riddle game, we were desperate. We guessed he had it…our birthday present…the Precious. We followed him out. We promised ourself we would choke him.

We wandered in the hot and cold. The rain made us wet. The warm sun…the freezing snow…it was all the same to us. We hated it all. Without our Precious, nothing else mattered.

We wandered everywhere. We climbed mountains and swam rivers. And the orkses found us. They took us to the Dark Lord.

They hurt us. They stretched us on a bed of spikes. They poked us with red hot spears. The Dark Lord himself watched us. He asked us over and over where it was.

We realized he meant the Precious. We were angry. The Precious belonged to us! And we were surprised. The mighty Sauron, the Dark Lord, who lived before elveses and orkses were born, who had armies of orkses and trollses…he wanted just a little gold ring. And we understood. We needed the Precious to hide ourselves from the eyes of others. He needed the Precious to be king of others. He was afraid of Baggins!

Hah! It makes Sméagol laugh! Sauron and Black Riders and orkses! All afraid of Baggins! All afraid of Halflings! Maybe even afraid of…_gollum…guffaw_…**Sméagol**!

Sméagol is not afraid to become dust and ashes. Doesn't matter if he is burned up. He is glad he took Master and fat hobbit to the Black Land. It was fun to serve Master. Sméagol is content. Sméagol is happy to rest.

Sméagol only wishes he could learn to like fat hobbit's _'taters_. Or that fat hobbit could leaern to like raw fish.

…No…Sméagol wishes more…to see his brother…and the other…she who loved him…

_**to be continued**_


	3. Chapter 3

We all know fan-fiction is about relationshipping; or, as it's called, 'shipping. So…having portrayed (hopefully with a touch of verisimilitude) Sméagol's repentance, what greater thing could I bestow upon him than a love interest?

_**Aftermath**_

…Potatoes…hobbits loved potatoes…but they always spoilt food with…ugh…cooking…we wish we could teach them to like raw meat…at least raw fish…fresh fish…sweet and juicy…

…We remember fishing with our brother…how we loved it…after chores were done…to sneak away to the river…we would cast our lines…and then just wait…and talk…the warmth of the sun and the lap of the water…it didn't get any better than that…

…Except times with the…the…

…Drat…Sméagol wishes he could remember them…he remembers…her…her deep purple eyes…the daisy chains in her hair…her laughter like music…

_*Sigh*_

All times are gone. Precious is gone. Sméagol is gone. Just dust and ashes…

…Eh? What is this?…

…We still hear our thoughts…it is taking a long time to become dust and ashes…do people still think after they are dust and ashes?

We open our eyes. Sméagol is in another place…how is this? It's our old home by the river. We don't know…

We sit up. We look around. Yes. Yes! It looks just like it did before we found nasty Precious. Cool water. Trickling sound. Wind blowing through trees. Soft grass. Warm sun shining through bright green leaves. We look at ourself. We are wearing our old clothes. Our hands and feet…they look…normal. We feel our head…our hair is grown back. We crawl to the edge of the river and look in the water at ourself. It is us. It is Sméagol's old face…looking all amazed.

We are too surprised to move. Our shock is so deep, we cannot think of words to describe it. Just like our pain was so bad, we could not think of ways to tell ourself how bad it felt.

The thought of pain…it makes us remember. We threw Precious into the fire…just like Master started to do.

We sit back and look around again. We are…we are…what are we, my sweet one? And we answer ourself: we are confused, that's what.

Sméagol, you are being silly, we tell ourself. We laugh at ourself. We lay back on the ground and look at the sky. We feel so good. We feel happy. We cannot remember ever feeling so happy after we found the Precious.

We grow serious. We try to remember the last time we laughed. We shake our head sadly. It was too long ago. It is lost to us. Alas.

_Gol… Gol… _

More strangeness. We can't make the sound anymore. It used to be a habit.

We hear a voice, and we turn to look. We see…

Oh, by the Heavens…oh, Sun, Moon, and Stars…it is our brother, Déagol. Now, we're afraid we're going insane. We shake our head and splash water on our face. We close our eyes and open them. We squint. It doesn't go away.

It really is Déagol, carrying his fishing pole. He is not dead. He waves at us.

We run to him. We feel so happy to see him…don't we? What is this feeling? We feel bad and glad at the same time.

Words spill from our mouth. Dear brother…didn't we choke you? Sméagol is so sorry. It makes him so sad now. Sméagol wishes he could choke himself as a punishment.

Déagol laughs. He gives us a big hug and messes up our hair. It doesn't matter, he says. What took you so long, he asks? Just like the old days, he says with a nudge of his elbow in our ribs…Déagol was the punctual one, Sméagol was the laggard. Sméagol the snail.

His face darkens for a moment. He bows his head and mumbles an apology. He remembers now, he says, why his brother became so hateful. Other people hated him first.

We take hold of his shoulders. We start to shake him…not hard, but earnestly. We try harder than he did to apologize. Sméagol was bad long before others treated him badly.

He grasps our forearms. He sighs and smiles sadly. If we aren't careful the two of us will begin another argument. And we both shake our heads and hug.

He puts his arm around our shoulders, and leads us along the riverbank, in the upstream direction, over the crest of a hill. We are too slow, he says. The girls are already waiting…

We don't know what he means. But then we see…it looks like a picnic. There are blankets on the grass by the river. There are plates and mugs and bowls of food. There is bread and jam and honey and fruit and nuts. There is tea and lemonade. There is a fire with fish cooking. And a pot with vegetables and broth. And potatoes, like the fat hobbit mentioned. Now we remember.

We see…we see…more people. It is so hard…we try to recall. It is the two sisters. Their names…Acacia Rose and…and…Violet.

They run to meet us. Violet hugs our neck…my neck. She kisses my cheek and says she missed me. Her hair is as dark brown as maple tree bark. Her eyes are deep deep purple…like the flower. That was why she was given that name.

I remember her. She always smelled like cherry blossoms. In the summer she wore a daisy chain crown on her hair. And sometimes she would dance with me.

She's been waiting, she tells me. She was afraid I wouldn't come.

She tells me I fought a great battle. It was even greater that all the battles between the elves and orks. She says the greatest battle anyone can fight is against his own heart.

I think I understand. I feel strange tingles when I hear her say my name. I try to tell her…and I can't think of what to say.

She laughs and calls me silly. It isn't bad. Whatever she calls me makes me feel the same. Special. Yes…that is how she makes me feel.

We all sit on the blanket. Acacia Rose and Déagol, and Violet and me.

I feel bashful. We sit in a circle. I try to sit across from Violet. But she grabs my arm and pulls me next to her.

The food is delicious. Déagol caught the fish. Acacia Rose and Violet prepared the rest of the food. It is all so scrumptious. I eat a plateful. Then another. Then…I think…another.

I burp. Violet giggles. Then she burps. She blushes, and Acacia Rose giggles.

After we eat, we play games. Leap Frog. Blind Man's Bluff. Hide And Seek.

I forgot people ever played games. The wicked Precious took all that away.

It is late. The sun looks like it setting. Acacia and Déagol are walking in the woods, hand in hand. Violet sits against a tree. She tells me to lay my head on her lap. She caresses my hair and forehead with her fingers.

The grass is cool under us. The sun is warm over us. And Violet's hand is so soothing. I begin to forget that there was ever a nasty little gold ring in the mud at the bottom of the river.

What will happen, I ask? After the sun sets, the stars come out, she tells me. When the world was young, before the coming of the Sun and Moon, the Elves lived in starlight

It is all too wonderful. I tell that to Violet. I tell her it will be sad for this wonderful time to end.

She laughs. Her laughter is so pretty…like music. Why would it end, she asks?

I tell her wonderful times always end. All the food gets eaten, the nice weather becomes too hot or cold, with fierce winds…or worst of all, the people get tired of you. They grew tired of me…of us…Gollum. They drove us away…

…Away from Violet…I don't tell her that thought…but it makes me feel hurt…

…Violet lays her finger on my lips. Her voice is so quiet. Her eyes are so pretty. Don't I realize yet, she tells me? I will never have to go away.

I am surprised. Maybe…maybe she doesn't know what I mean.

And very slowly, very quietly, very softly, she explains.

I died. So did she. So did Acacia Rose and Déagol. This is the place where people come after they die. It is a place of happiness. Here there is no sadness or sickness.

Violet died hundreds of years ago. But she did not forget me. She knew I had killed Déagol. But she still loved me and hoped for my…she used a word…redemption.

She poured her heart out to Those Who are above everything. She used names I hardly knew. The Valar. The Ones called Manwe and Varda.

I heard those names when I was with Master. The Men of Gondor prayed to the Valar. Sometimes Master sometimes prayed to Elbereth. Violet said that was another name for Varda.

Pictures appear in my mind. The first Baggins…Bilbo…he almost killed me after the Riddle Game. He hesitated. The Precious was telling him to kill It's former keeper…and he hesitated.

I stared at the scene. My heart hurt in my chest. I felt so hot…I, who killed my brother for the Precious. I knew what to call this feeling. Shame. It was scalding hot, even hotter than the lava of Mount Doom. It hurt deeply, this shame.

The next Baggins…Master…Frodo…he was angry that I was still alive.

It was a pity that Bilbo didn't kill me, he said.

The wise old one…Gandalf…told Frodo that Pity was a stronger voice than the Precious. He told Frodo that even the Valar cannot see how a thing will end.

I cover my face when she tells me this. I want to run away. Violet's hand on my shoulder keeps me there. I admit to her how I prayed to the one called…

I was going to say the name of the one who dwelt at Cirith Ungol…the spidery one…who spun the webs to catch her prey. I tricked my Master into going that way. So she would…

Violet nods her head. She already knew. There is no need for me to speak the foul name. She says she prayed to One even higher, Whom the Elves call Eru, and Illuvatar. She begged for my…redemption.

I am silent. I want to say something, but I could not think of any words. What I feel in my heart was too big. The world was full of high folk, and mighty ones. But there were two who thought of me…Master, who was alive, and Violet, who was not.

I feel very small. I do not feel good enough to be worth so much effort.

Violet knows my feelings. She tells me that in the Eyes of the Highest, no one is unimportant.

Suddenly, I understand. The One made everything and everyone, so they could choose. And some chose badly. Like me. And from their choices, everything happened. Numinor. Mordor. The Ring. Everything…

…The Precious almost won. Frodo decided not to throw It away. I tried to take It. Master and Sméagol fought like starving rats over a piece of rotten food. We both would have killed each other, if I had not bitten

Master's finger off...

_**Oh, dear Master! Poor Master! Please forgive Sméagol!**_

I fell. Frodo was free. But the Precious still almost won. It ssspoke sssweet thingsss in our earssss. Yesss, Preciousss…_Gollum_…!

…Violet knew…she wept…she interceded…she pled…

…_**The Precious…wicked and tricksy Precious…we hates It…yes, we does…we hates It forever…let Sméagol finish what Master begun…**_

…

The pictures in my mind fade. I look up to see Violet's pretty face, with her lovely deep purple eyes, and small sweet mouth. I am still resting with my head in her lap.

Suddenly, I can't understand, anymore. The feeling of knowing everything went away. I feel small and helpless. It is like a curtain has closed.

I try to explain to Violet. She says she knows what I meant.

To understand the One, she says, is like trying to move a great mountain. Even a strong person can only move a few rocks.

Questions jump around inside me. This…Redemption. Is it for others, also? Will others come? Will I see Master again? Frodo? And Sam?

Violet leans down and gives me a kiss. Be patient, she says. It is enough that I am here.

She is right. I am with my brother. And with her. I am content.

We watch the sun as it sets, the light as it fades, and the stars as they appear.

It is all so beautiful and wonderful. It makes me feel…like my heart will burst with joy.

I ask Violet again what will happen.

In the morning the sun will come, she says. And after that, another morning. An unending Morning.

And will we be together?

Yes, for the hundredth time, she says, giggling.

Always, I ask?

Always, she says.

_**to be continued...**_


	4. Chapter 4 conclusion

_**conclusion**_

And so I sit next to her under the tree. She snuggles close to me. She puts her arm around my waist and my arm around her shoulder. The sun is a great ruby red circle that slowly sinks. For only a moment…less than an eye blink…I think of the Great Red Eye of the Fallen One. Already I can no longer recall His foul Name.

Then Violet sighs. She loves me, she whispers, and she loves being with me.

I love her, I tell her. I smell her cherry blossom fragrance, and the awful memory of the Dark Lord and His One Ring is gone.

My Precious…my Love…my Darling…my Sweet One…all the names I called that false trinket and my false self…they all belong to her. They always have, and they always will.

The sun slips behind the roiling hills at the horizon. The sky turns from fiery scarlet, to pale yellow, to clear blue, to deep indigo, to soft and dark violet. And, I think to myself, the color was named for the girl next to me, not the other way around.

The stars begin to appear. Twinkling faintly at first, they glisten brightly, with a pure white light.

My dear one points out the bright Evening Star as it appears on the other side of the sky, at the edge of the horizon. It is Eärendil the Mariner, she tells me, in her soft musical voice. On his brow, like a circlet, he wears the Silmaril, set within the Nauglamír. His garments gleam with the jeweled dust of Valinor. He sails the sky in his ship Vingilótë. His wife Elwing flies to him in the shape of a great white bird.

Frodo and Sam knew all these things. I should've paid better attention when they told each other these stories. From now on, I will listen very carefully to what I am told.

I peer, and seem to see a tiny sliver of light, like a crescent.

That is Elwing, Violet tells me. Her husband eternally sails the heavens, and his wife eternally flies to him.

Do they never get to meet, I ask, surprised?

Violet giggles. Of course they do, she says. The bird flies to Eärendil's arms. He clasps it to his breast and it takes the form of Elwing. She sleeps in his embrace, with her hair wafting on his face…the way Violet flies to her Sméagol, my darling adds, in a whisper.

With my arm around her shoulder, I find myself hugging Violet closer. I will never let her fly away, I tell myself. She takes my other hand and gently clasps it to her bosom.

I lean my head back to look at it all. The stars have flung themselves all over the sky. I can't remember ever seeing anything this beautiful in all the time of my old life. I blink away some tears from my eyes and swallow a lump in my throat. How vast it all is.

My love lays her head on my shoulder and yawns. Good night, Sméagol, she murmurs tenderly. With her fingertips on my chin, she turns my head and kisses my lips. Will I mind if she sleeps just a little?

Of course not, I tell her. It must have been very tiring waiting for Sméagol the Snail.

She giggles and calls me silly with her soft musical voice. Then she is suddenly asleep. "Good night, Violet, my love," I whisper.

…_**the Beginning…the true Beginning that will never end…**_

(I began this before Christmas, 2011. Easter, 2012 has now come and gone. But whatever the holiday, I wish a Blessed and Joyous Celebration to my brothers and sisters in the Body of Christ and the Family of Man.)


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